W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps IV - Battleground

But in his own eyes he had no character. Or phrased less delicately, he was letting his dick do his thinking for him. He made "Sorry, I have the duty" telephone calls at least four times-for two nights in a row, twice. But that was as far as logic could go, vis-…-vis overwhelming the sinful lusts of the flesh.

No matter how high his original resolve and how firm his original intentions, by the third day, he was unable to refute the whispers in his ear, Billy-Boy, they are not pulling your chain with that "Live Today For Tomorrow We Die" shit. The piece of ass you are so casually rejecting may well be the last piece you are ever offered. Tomorrow morning, you may crash inflames. Or they may tell you to get your ass aboard a carrier; and away you will sail to your hero's death. With that in mind, does it really make any sense to spend your last night alive or ashore in your room with a portable radio for company, when you can play Hide the Salami and other games in Mary Agnes's perfumed bed?

Dunn noticed First Lieutenant David Schneider within sixty seconds or so of the moment Schneider walked into the bar of the Main Club. Schneider caught Dunn's attention because he was wearing a white uniform. Officers wearing white uniforms outnumbered officers wearing greens about ten to one, but Schneider's white uniform was the only one-Marine or Navy-with gold Naval Aviator's wings pinned to it.

I wonder who that horse's ass is? was Bill Dunn's first thought. If you were an aviator, you could get away with not wearing whites.

His second thought immediately followed the first: He probably just got here. He's probably, as a matter-of-fact, one of the two we got today.

When Dunn had signed out in the squadron office for the Main Club at Pearl Harbor, PFC Hastings told him VMF-229 had two new officer pilots.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to bust my zipper," First Lieutenant Dunn said quietly to Lieutenant (j.g.) O'Malley, removing her hand from his crotch.

"Promises, promises," she replied and pursed her lips at him.

"Excuse me," he said, getting up.

"Where are you going?"

"I think the guy in whites down at the end of the bar is one of ours," he said. "I'll be right back."

Mary Agnes looked toward the end of the bar and saw First Lieutenant David Schneider.

"Oh, he's cute!" she exclaimed, "He looks just like John Garfield."

Dunn reached Schneider in time to see the bartender fill the lieutenant's glass with ginger ale. He was a little surprised, because there was no darker liquid already in the glass.

"Good evening," Dunn said.

Schneider nodded an acknowledgment, but did not speak.

"Is your name John Garfield, by any chance?"

"No, it is not."

"Just get in? To VMF-229 by any chance?"

Dunn saw that the question made the lieutenant uncomfortable.

Obviously, he can't answer that question. Japanese ears are everywhere. Loose lips sink ships. And I probably look like a Jap spy in disguise.

"My name is Dunn. I'm Exec of VMF-229."

"Oh," Schneider said, straightening. "Yes, Sir. My name is Schneider, Sir. I reported aboard today, Sir."

Dunn gave him his hand.

"How do you do, Sir?"

"I heard there were two of you?"

"Yes, Sir. Lieutenant Jim Ward was on the same set of orders."

"He here with you?"

"No, Sir. I believe he stayed aboard Ewa."

"Oh, now I know who you are. The Skipper stole you from Quantico, right?"

"We were stationed at Quantico, yes, Sir."

"Now, don't misunderstand this. This is a simple suggestion. I'm about to return to Ewa. I have a car. If you need a ride?"

"Yes, Sir, thank you very much. Actually, I came in here hoping to get a ride."

"Well, then, come on down the bar while I finish my drink."

"Won't I be in the way, Sir? Two's company, and so on?"

"Not at all," Bill Dunn said. "The lady and I are just friends."

This is despicable of you, Billy Dunn. But on the other hand, what a clever sonofabitch you are sometimes.

"Lieutenant O'Malley, may I present Lieutenant Schneider, who joined the squadron today?"

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," Mary Agnes said. "Did anyone ever tell you you look just like John Garfield?"

Dave Schneider flushed. "No, I can't say that anyone has."

"Don't you think he does, Bill?"

"Spitting image," Bill Dunn said. He was pleased to see that Lieutenant Schneider did not seem to be able to keep his eyes away from Mary Agnes's tunic, where her bosom placed quite a strain against the material; it sort of made her gold buttons stand to attention.

He beckoned to the bartender.

"We'll have a round," he said.

"Sir," Dave Schneider said uncomfortably, "I was led to believe we'd be flying tomorrow."

"One cognac won't hurt you," Bill Dunn said. "And we can't welcome you aboard with ginger ale."

"Yes, Sir," Dave Schneider said.

"And another part of the welcome aboard ritual is a dance with Lieutenant O'Malley," Dunn said. "Mary Agnes is something like the squadron mascot, isn't that so, Mary Agnes?"

"Oh, it is not," she said. "You make me sound like a cocker spaniel. But I do like to dance."

How about a bitch in heat?

(Two)

HEADQUARTERS, RAN COASTWATCHER ESTABLISHMENT

TOWNESVILLE, QUEENSLAND

1945 HOURS 15 JULY 1942

Both Major Ed Banning, commanding officer of U.S. Marine Corps Special Detachment 14, and Lieutenant Commander Eric Feldt, Officer Commanding, Royal Australian Navy Coast Watcher Establishment, were waiting at the small Townesville air strip when the Royal Australian Air Force Lockheed Hudson came in low over the sea and touched down.

As the twin engine bomber-transport taxied to a parking place, Banning put the Studebaker President in gear and bounced over the grass to it.

By the time the rear door opened, and Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, was emerging from it, Banning and Feldt were standing on either side of the spot where his feet would alight. After Feldt saluted elaborately, in the British palm-out manner, the hand quivering, he barked, "Sir!"

Banning extended a towel-wrapped bottle in an ice-filled cooler. The cooler had begun life as a tomato can.

"It's beer," he said. "But you can't fault our good intentions."

"I expected at least a band," Pickering said, taking the bottle from the can and removing the towel. "What am I supposed to do, bite the cap off?"

"Sir!" Feldt barked again, and bowing deeply handed him a bottle opener.

Pickering opened the beer bottle, took a pull from the neck, and offered the bottle to Feldt.

"Very good of you, Sir," Feldt said, taking a pull at the beer and handing it to Banning. "And may I say how honored we all feel that you could find time in your busy schedule to honor us with a visit."

Pickering appeared to be thoughtfully considering the remark. Finally, smiling, he said, "Yes, I think you may."

Feldt laughed with delight.

The pilot, a silver-haired Wing Commander, the co-pilot, a Squadron Commander, and the crew chief, a sergeant, came out of the airplane. Banning introduced them, and then said, "I think, Wing Commander, that you may unload the emergency rations for these starving savages."

"Very good, Sir," the Wing Commander said.

The sergeant went back in the Hudson and started handing boxes out. There was a case of scotch, a case of bourbon, six cases of beer, and a wooden case marked Moet and Chandon.

"Do you sodding Americans do everything backward? Christmas is in December," Feldt said.

"A small contribution to the enlisted mess," Pickering said. "Knowing as I do that a fine Christian officer such as yourself would never allow alcohol to touch his lips."

"I can get it down without it coming near my lips," Feldt said. "Anyone who comes between me and the bubbly does so at his peril."